


sharp and brittle

by SkyeDragonDraws



Category: Hollow Knight (Video Games)
Genre: F/F, Unresolved Romantic Tension?, but if you're looking for a dramatic kiss i'm afraid you'll have to look elsewhere, somewhat. there is an Agreement, sword lesbians HELL yeah
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-25
Updated: 2020-05-25
Packaged: 2021-03-02 21:49:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24373816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SkyeDragonDraws/pseuds/SkyeDragonDraws
Summary: Hornet is nothing if not honorable. Lace, it seems, has had very few dealings with people like her.
Relationships: Hornet/Lace (Hollow Knight)
Comments: 25
Kudos: 96





	sharp and brittle

**Author's Note:**

> have I ever written romance? no. did my tiny little wlw-content-starved lesbian ass latch on to these two and scream until I wrote SOMEHING? yes.

Hornet’s rival was… _brittle_ today. 

There was a certain sharpness to Lace’s strikes, and the usual bright glow of her eyes had a delicate edge to it.

Her flourishes and dancing steps held none of their typical playfulness, and whenever she bent forward or stepped backward, for a moment she would lose her normal grace.

She looked almost… _pained._

Hornet grunted, feeling herself be pushed backward slightly as Lace landed two swift blows on the flat of her needle.

Whatever was going on, it certainly had not affected the levels of sheer force Lace put behind everything she did.

Hornet could certainly recall her surprise during their first meeting. Such impressive strength from a bug who looked so dainty had certainly caught her off-guard. Underestimating Lace was a mistake she was not keen on repeating.

Another blow landed on her needle. This time, Hornet caught it on the edge of her blade and _twisted,_ forcing the other woman’s weapon away.

She expected Lace to move with her pin, forcing the white-clad bug to leave herself open for a strike that would catch her off balance long enough for Hornet to claim a victory and move on.

This did not happen.

Instead, Lace’s pin clattered to the soft floor of the forest clearing they were in, and Lace herself surprised Hornet with a short, bitten-off cry of pain.

In all the duels Hornet had fought with Lace, she had not heard a sound from the other woman, beyond Lace’s bell-like giggles and perhaps some slightly labored breaths when she was exhausted by their battles.

The level of control Lace had over herself rivaled even Hornet’s.

So this pain, displayed so openly, settled wrongly in Hornet’s gut.

A glance back at where Lace was standing (her eyes had been on the pin, expecting Lace to follow it) only intensified the twisting feeling _._

The normally pale white side of her fencing gear was stained _blue._

_Blood._

Looking closer, Hornet could see the smear reaching around her side. Judging by how Lace was bent over, and how her hands spasmed each time she attempted to straighten, the wound was on her back.

Hornet had not struck at Lace’s back _once._

There was no honor in killing an enemy from behind, and Hornet was _nothing_ if not honorable. She had very little of herself - her mask, her cloak, her needle - but above all that, she had her honor. Of all the things she could lose, her honor was the one she’d claw tightest to.

And whoever made this wound was not honorable.

_This_ was not honorable.

Duels are meant to be on even ground, and this had tipped the playing field from the start. 

“Lace?” 

Lace flinched at the sound of Hornet’s voice. She attempted to stand one last time, but the pain won.

“It seems - _ngh!_ \- you’ll have your victory, little spider.” She said, gasping. “I suppose you’ll reach the shining citadel after all. I hope it’s worth it to you, in the end.”

Hornet frowned. This was no victory. Their duels were not to the _death_ \- a silent agreement they had shared since their second encounter. Lace only asked her to prove her strength to move forward, and if she was a challenge Hornet could not meet? Then Hornet would not be ready to move forward.

Simple as that.

Lace swayed where she stood, her legs shaking. 

Hornet stepped forward, but not quickly enough. Lace collapsed, catching herself on her hands with a bitten-off yelp before her arms gave out and she fell prone.

Her hands twitched.

“Stay down,” Hornet warned. “You’ll only hurt yourself further.”

She heard an intake of breath, as if Lace were preparing to argue, but it hissed right back out as Hornet crouched beside her.

“May I see?” She asked. 

They both knew it wasn’t a question. Lace could not stop her, and Hornet would not leave Lace to die.

Lace let out a sharp breath and fell limp as Hornet rested a clawtip on her back. She’d have to cut away some of Lace’s shirt to get to the wound. If she sliced it properly, it would be an easy fix, but she had to do it _right._

Carefully, Hornet cut a semicircle in the fabric and peeled it back, ignoring Lace’s hiss of warning.

There was a layer of bandages underneath. Skillfully done, but the wound was in such a difficult place to reach that it would require somebody else’s eyes to properly wrap it.

And it appeared Lace had nobody she trusted to watch her back. 

Hornet sliced through the wrapping and quickly pulled it back, exposing the hole in Lace’s chitin. It was narrow, but _deep._ The scratches nearby spoke of a knife, buried to its hilt.

Blood welled, far less than there should be. Hornet pressed her hand flat over the wound, and Lace flinched. 

“Don’t move,” Hornet said firmly. “I’m going to bind you.”

She focused, and silk spilled from her palm, filling the wound and spinning a small protective cover that would stick to the nearby chitin and protect silk while it worked its healing magic.

Lace twitched under Hornet’s hands, and a soft gasp escaped her, but was otherwise still.

Concerning. Hornet knew binding was _not_ a painless experience. The amount of blood Lace had lost must have been affecting her.

Hornet raised her hand, inspecting the patch to make sure it was sufficient. Upon confirming it would hold, she pulled the bloodied bandages away, and prepared to repair Lace’s clothing.

Suddenly, a thought occurred to her.

Hornet stilled. “Are you injured anywhere else?” 

“No.” Lace’s voice had a brittle, worn edge to it. 

“Good.” Minute strands of silk flowed from beneath Hornet’s claws, and she stippled her fingers along both edges, poking silk through the tiny holes her claw tips made, closing the rip in the fabric without leaving a mark.

With that task complete, Hornet settled back on her heels.

The moment her hands left Lace’s back, the other woman gathered her hands under herself and pushed her head up to make eye contact.

“What did you do?” Lace said, her eyes narrowed suspiciously. 

“I bound your wound. It’s what I do for my own injuries.” Hornet stood, and held out a hand to Lace. If her guess was correct, Lace would be unable to stand on her own.

Lace took the offered hand. Her grip was surprisingly weak, and Hornet heard a barely-muffled squeak of surprise as she pulled Lace up.

Hornet was right: Lace did not stand on her own for more than a moment. Her knees buckled again, but this time Hornet was quick enough to catch her.

“Let go of me.” Lace snapped, her voice the harshest and most panicked Hornet had ever heard her. 

“You will fall,” Hornet warned her.

“Let _go_ of me.”

Hornet loosened her grip, and Lace pulled away. She fell, and this time Hornet waited until she had nearly hit the ground to catch her.

“I said: you will fall.”

Lace stayed quiet. 

Minding her injury, Hornet slid one hand under Lace’s back and another under her knees, scooping her up in a bridal carry.

Lace let out a squeak of surprise, instinctively wrapping her arms around Hornet’s shoulders. 

“You cannot stand, let alone walk, and this is no place to make a camp.” Hornet offered by way of explanation.

Once more, Lace stayed quiet. However, she did not unwrap her arms, and this silence seemed more… _thoughtful_ than the last.

Her grip tightened as Hornet bent down, slinging both Lace’s pin and her own needle across her back. 

Hornet frowned. Her typical method of transportation would not work here - she needed both hands to travel with her needle, and Lace needed to be carried.

Walking it was, then.

Lace grip in Hornet’s cloak slowly loosened as Hornet traveled deeper into the woods. The tree branches began to block out the light of the early evening sun, which softened as the evening grew older. 

A good campsite was surprisingly easy to find - a sheltered area between two trees, surrounded by bramble bushes. Hornet spotted a trail through them. Ducking her head over Lace and using her mask to shove the more clingy stems out of the way, she pushed through without a single one vine catching on the other woman’s puffy outfit.

Her own cloak was woven to be difficult to hook into - be it claws or thorns grabbing at her, so she paid it no mind as it brushed over the brambles. 

Hornet settled Lace against the smooth-barked tree, leaning her so she could catch herself on it if she fell.

Something odd flickered in Lace’s eyes as she released her grip on Hornet’s cloak.

Hornet stepped back and stood, taking stock of the clearing. For a moment, there was silence. 

“If you need to sleep,” Hornet said suddenly, surprising herself, “do. You should rest.”

“Hardly,” Lace said impishly. “I got my beauty sleep, little spider.”

Hornet sighed, feeling the weight of Lace’s pin on her back heavier than ever. “If you need rest, I will not begrudge you it.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Lace replied, the teasing lilt not leaving even for a moment. Her eyes were crinkled in the approximation of a grin, but there was something delicate in the way she was looking at Hornet.

Hornet settled at the tree, drawing her whetstone and cleaning-cloth from her cloak and began to polish the grime and dust off her blade. When that task was complete to her satisfaction, she returned the cloth and picked up the whetstone. After inspecting it and confirming that it had not picked up any irregularities that would damage her needle, she began to run it along the edge of her blade.

As Hornet carefully sharpened away the nicks and scratches brought about by the earlier scuffle (she would not call something so unfairly rigged a _duel,_ as that word held a weight in honor their fight did not carry), a thought occurred to her.

“I will not presume to sharpen your pin,” Hornet said, raising her voice slightly to make it heard over the steady scraping noise. “But may I have your permission to clean it? Such a fine thing should not be harmed through neglect.”

Lace narrowed her eyes, and stared searchingly at Hornet for a moment. “You may,” she said slowly. “When you are finished, do not lay it on the ground; that dulls the edge. Hang it from the hook.”

“I’ll use one of my needle-holders to hang it. Is that acceptable?” Hornet produced one from her cloak, and tossed it over for Lace to inspect. 

Lace was caught off-guard, and fumbled with the tool for a moment. She lifted it up and inspected it closely. It was a small thing that fit neatly into her gloved palm. One end was sharpened into a spike meant to be driven into a tree, and the other was an open hook. Lace gently ran a claw over the hook part, assuring that it was smooth and would not scratch her pin. Finding it satisfactory, she threw it back with a nod.

Hornet snatched it out of the air without looking. She set her needle to the side, and laid the needle-holder next to it. Then, she drew Lace’s pin into her lap and began the same methodical process of cleaning it.

It was more difficult than Hornet expected to return the pin to an acceptable state, but the effort was well worth it. 

Lace seemed… reassured by the meticulous care Hornet put into her weapon. Certainly, she at least let down her guard enough to fall asleep by the time her pin was hanging on the tree.

She stirred as Hornet stood, but did not try to rise.

Hornet kept an eye on her, but Lace did not move to get up all throughout the process of making dinner. It would be a simple meal tonight - just a stew, but a rich, hearty one. 

She spooned the thick broth into the collapsible bowl she carried with her, carried it delicately across the clearing, and crouched before Lace. 

“You should eat,” Hornet said. 

Lace jolted harshly at the sound of Hornet’s voice, flinching away from the shadow the other bug cast over her. Her head snapped up and her hand rested on the floor of the clearing. Her eyes met Hornet’s, and then zeroed in on the bowl of food Hornet was offering her. 

Her gloved hands twitched. “I would at least expect something more subtle than this attempt poisoning from you,” she said. Her words were clipped, and there was an underlying fragility to her speech. 

“Why would I poison you?” Hornet asked. “I did not spend two hours binding your wounds and cleaning your pin only to kill you. If I wanted to kill you dishonorably, I would have struck you down when you stumbled.”

“If you are not planning to poison me, then why are you not eating yourself? There’s plenty for two,” a small grin crept over Lace’s face. “You hardly need to fast, _little_ spider.”

Hornet sighed, pressing her thumb and forefinger to the center of her mask. She did _not_ want to deal with this right now. “I only have one bowl.”

“Oh.” Lace said. “You make a compelling argument.” 

“Well? Are you going to eat?” 

Lace hesitated a moment longer, and then brought the bowl to her mouth. “I will. You don’t need to watch me, little spider. I’ll eat it all.”

“You’re not the only one in need of food, Lace. Like you said - I’m hardly in a place to be fasting.” Hornet settled beside her, just out of arm’s reach. 

The clearing was quiet as Lace ate. 

Hornet fidgeted with a snippet of silk, weaving it between her claws. A nervous habit she’d picked up from her father, the tendency to fiddle with things instead of speaking, but not one she could ever seem to break.

Lace finished with a small sigh, wiped her mouth, and held the bowl out to Hornet. “Your cooking is good.” 

Hornet said: “You needn’t have rushed for my sake.”

“I’ve learned to eat quickly when I need to,” Lace replied evenly. 

That was one of the small things about Lace that bothered Hornet. She was… much too guarded, much too deadly for the giggly, playful mask she wore. 

Judging by the fact that Lace had literally been _stabbed in the back and continued along as_ _though_ _nothing had happened,_ Hornet could only assume that mask was warranted. 

Something must have shown in her eyes when she accepted the bowl, for Lace spoke again. 

“I must wonder… _why_?” 

Hornet did not respond until she was settled next to Lace once more, a bowl of stew in her lap. “Why what?”

“So many whys I have for you, little spider,” Lace sighed. She crossed her legs, and rested her elbow on her knee and her chin in her hand. “But for now… why save me? Why not take the opportunity to strike me down?”

Hornet bristled, but forced herself to relax. “I am no backstabber.”

“It would hardly be a betrayal, Hornet.” Lace’s voice was hard, and her hand drifted towards her back before returning to her lap. “The lines are clear between us.” 

“I would not strike down an enemy that cannot fight back.” Hornet snapped. “I do not lack the _barest_ sense of honor.” 

“I am hardly declawed.” Lace said. She sounded almost… offended?

“That you are not,” Hornet agreed. “But that was not a fair fight. I will not cut you down while we are on such uneven standing.”

“Were our positions reversed, I would not have afforded you the same mercy.” 

“Were our positions reversed, sparing me would not have been a mercy,” Hornet said seriously. “Were our positions reversed, killing me would have been the most merciful thing to do.” 

“Oh, do you think me merciful?” Lace asked, a teasing lilt entering her voice. 

“Not at all,” Hornet responded. 

Lace tittered. “You certainly know how to flatter a lady, little spider!” 

Hornet felt her cheeks grow hot.

She took a long sip of her soup, and an even longer swallow. By the time she was finished, the bowl was empty and Lace was looking significantly more tired. 

Still, when Hornet stood, Lace’s head snapped up. Her eyes followed Hornet’s path as the spider made her way over to the fire, and began to clean up what little remained of dinner. 

“I’m going to clean up, and then I’m going to sleep,” Hornet offered awkwardly as she worked. “You should too.” 

Lace’s eyes narrowed. “And if I don’t?”

“Then I suppose you will spend all night awake,” Hornet replied. Her attention was only half on the other-woman; a stubborn stain on the bowl had fully captured her concentration. 

A dainty yawn. “Well, that certainly wouldn’t do.”

By the time Hornet had settled across from Lace, with the camp was clean and the fire out, the other woman was sound asleep. 

Hornet, too, did not stay long in the waking world. She was a light enough sleeper to be awoken by Lace trying anything, and with her needle laying across her lap, the other woman would be dead before she laid a claw on her pin. 

*

Hornet was not the first one up the next morning. When she woke, Lace was leaning easily against the tree, her trademark grin in place. She held none of the strained nature of yesterday, and she moved easily as she stood to greet Hornet. 

“Good morning, little spider,” Lace said. 

Hornet did not bother to return the greeting with anything beyond a nod. “You could have woken me,” she said. 

“I wouldn’t want to interrupt the sleep you so clearly need.” 

Hornet decided not to follow that avenue of conversation. Lace was… unnervingly good at saying very much without telling anything at all, and she did not feel like spending her morning going in circles, thank you very much. 

Instead, she settled by the ashes of the dead fire, intent on awakening it for the morning. If possible, she’d like to have a warm drink before she continued her trek. 

Hornet wouldn’t have minded a silent morning, but Lace, however, seemed _determined_ to have some sort of conversation. 

“What do you plan to do once you get to the top?”

“Look around,” Hornet deadpanned as she scored her claws down a small piece of steel, shedding sparks on the small pile of tinder she’d prepared. “I’m simply here for the view.”

Lace snorted. “Quite the journey for a view.” 

“You’re from the top - isn’t it worth it?” Hornet asked, tilting her head. 

“Oh, certainly, were it not caged and gilded,” Lace replied. “Gold is nice, I’m certain, but it’s best in moderation.” 

Hornet nodded. There was silence for a moment, as she fanned the flames and settled the pot on the fire. She felt Lace’s eyes on her as she drew out a small a watermato out of her cloak and crushed it over the pot, filling it with fresh water. 

The silence in the clearing became almost unbearable as Hornet added the tea leaves. Lace seemed unwilling to break it, but was also clearly growing more uncomfortable by the minute. 

Small talk… was _not_ Hornet’s strong suit. 

Thankfully, this tea steeped quickly. Hornet filled her cup and offered it to Lace. 

Lace took the cup and sniffed its contents.

“You _watched_ me make that,” Hornet said, “how could I possibly have poisoned it?”

“I’m only trying to see what it is before I drink,” Lace said. 

“You can just _ask_ \- what kind of tea I prefer is hardly a secret I hold close to my chest.”

“Well, if that’s the case,” Lace tilted her head. “What is it?”

“Silkleaf Fern - I’ve not seen a single one here, but in Hallownest it’s practically a weed. It’s quite bitter - I’m told it is an acquired taste for those without spider heritage.” Hornet tapped her chin. “I suppose, that’s why they call it _Silk_ leaf.”

Lace nodded, and took a sip. Her eyes widened slightly.

“I did warn you that it was bitter-“

“No, no,” she said. “This is _good._ ”

“Oh?” Hornet asked.

“I like this,” Lace said, as though openly declaring favor was a dangerous statement.

Perhaps it was, for her.

“You may have the whole cup, if you like. I made enough for two.”

“Ah, little spider, I wouldn’t want to steal your tea,” Lace said. “A taste, a morsel is plenty for me.”

“Lace,” Hornet said, “I would not have given what I am unwilling or unable to share. Drink the tea, if you want it.”

“Oh, I do want it,” Lace’s eyes shone with some indecipherable emotion. “Very well, Hornet. I’ll drink your tea.”

Hornet took the opportunity to rummage around her pockets for a second cup. She knew she kept a spare _somewhere_ \- aha!

There was a small hole on one side of the cup that Hornet patched with a few well-placed threads of silk, but it was otherwise intact. She settled beside Lace with a small cup of her own tea, and passed the other woman a strip of jerky. 

Lace took it and began to eat. Her movements were fluid, and she held none of the carefully-hidden tension of last night.

“Are you feeling better?” Hornet asked. “Can you move without pain?”

Lace narrowed her eyes, and her hand drifted towards her back, but she nodded cautiously. “Whatever you did… _worked._ ”

“Binding,” Hornet said. “Weaversilk isn’t only good for textiles. It is somewhat magical as well. It is part of what allowed spiders to be such fierce and terrifying warriors - we were able to bounce back from nearly anything.”

“Hm,” Lace replied, taking a sip of her tea. “Innate, effective ways of healing. That sounds like a valuable trait for a warrior people.”

“It was,” Hornet said.

The fire crackled lazily in the background, and the mid-morning chorus was in full swing by the time both women finished their tea. 

There was a comfortable silence, as Hornet collected the cups and put out the fire, stowing everything away in her cloak for easy movement after they finished eating.

“Do you genuinely not know why I’m climbing?” Hornet asked as she settled back beside Lace, picking at the jerky in her claws. 

“I do not know why you do _anything,_ little spider,” Lace’s grin was brittle and strained. “You’re quite the mystery to me, I must admit. You climb towards what can only bring you suffering, you do not kill your enemy when her back is turned, and now you’re feeding something that will only hurt you in the future. Do you enjoy causing yourself pain, Hornet?”

“No.” Hornet said slowly. “I do not.”

“Then _why_ do you keep climbing?” Lace’s smile slipped from her face, and her voice cracked. 

“Because, I _can_ do something about this.” Hornet sighed. “I know what a lost cause, what a dead kingdom, what something broken beyond repair looks like, Lace. This kingdom may be rotten from the inside out, but there are good people here.”

“ _Where?_ ” 

“In the cities, the towns, the farms. I did not make it this far entirely on my own, Lace. People helped me, and I want to help them.”

“You’ve already _done_ that,” Lace said. “You’re no fool - you know there’s rebellion blooming, and it’s one that will not be stamped out this time. You’ve already won. Why do you keep climbing?”

“There are good people in the capital too.” 

“Awfully naive, little spider.” Lace said evenly. “I expected better from you.”

“I outgrew naivete the moment my mother’s sacrifice proved to be pointless, Lace.” Hornet’s words held a biting edge. “I do not make false claims. There were good people in my father’s court. There are good people here.”

“Do you challenge me? I have spent every moment of my life playing the games of these halls, Hornet.” Lace’s eyes held a strange, almost feverish glint. “There are no good people here. Turn back. You have done enough.” 

“A bold claim, coming from one of the good people.” 

Lace snorted, a violent departure from the delicate laughter she normally presented. “If _I_ am a good person, then I worry for your definition of good. You must be more careful with your faith - delicious morsels such as yourself will be snapped up without warning.” 

Hornet stood, suddenly. She marched over to the tree where Lace’s pin was hanging, snatched it up, and stalked back. Leaning on her needle with one hand, she offered Lace her pin in the other. “Do it, then. Snap me up. Prove me wrong.” 

The pin was snatched from Hornet’s loose grip and braced against her throat in less than a heartbeat. 

For a moment, the world was still. 

Then, finally, Lace dropped her pin, cutting the tension on its carefully polished edge. “You win, little spider. Was it worth it?”

Hornet took her weight off her needle, and slung the weapon on her back. “Not yet. Will it be? We shall see.”

“Oh, there’s a _we?_ ” 

“If you’d like,” Hornet said, choosing her words carefully and slowly, refusing to let herself stutter. “There could be a we.” 

She offered her hand to Lace.

Lace considered it, for a moment, like she didn’t fully believe Hornet. “There could be, you say?”

“Yes, I think so.”

“Well, if you _think so,_ my little spider -” Lace took her hand “- what am I to deny you?” 

**Author's Note:**

> I had to cut this because it didn’t fit and was OOC but:  
> “How many pockets do you have?” Hornet asked, if only to break the silence. 
> 
> “Not a single one, I’m afraid,” Lace said airily. “It’s simply dreadful.”
> 
> “I am so sorry,” Hornet replied. 
> 
> poor lace, she doesn't have any pockets. at least she has a girlfriend.
> 
> Also - wanna chat? My tumblr is skyedragondraws and my DMs are always open!! Sfw only please, I’m 15.


End file.
